


Ascension

by karenmcfadyyon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-28
Updated: 2010-04-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karenmcfadyyon/pseuds/karenmcfadyyon





	Ascension

Sometimes, a person took the wrong turn, the absolute wrong turn, and didn't realize it, not even when the signs should have been clear enough to cause, say, an epiphany of almost religious proportions.

At first, John Sheppard had still been riding so high on the 'sharing' Chaya had done with him that he failed to realize that his welcome back to Atlantis was less than enthusiastic.

Weir and Bates met him in the jumper bay and Weir had coolly informed him that he was off flight status until Beckett could confirm that he was still uncompromised and functioning. Bates was there to escort him to the briefing room.

Rodney was there, naturally, and he didn't seem to give a damn that John was pissed as hell; for that matter, Teyla was there, too, and she seemed to be regarding him with a rather jaundiced expression. Ford came in after they arrived and didn't quite meet his gaze.

"Major," Weir said and gestured for him to sit down. Bates sat across from him and had a notepad with him. "What did you find on your return to the planet?"

John looked around the table. "The planet was under attack by the Wraith. Shortly after I came through the gate, Chaya, uh, appeared in the jumper and told me she was going to take care of it. And then the energy weapon took care of the Wraith darts."

Rodney made a sound in his throat. "Major, there was no energy weapon. She was the energy weapon, that's what the Ascended can do."

Right. Well, John had figured that out, he just hadn't taken it all the way in yet. "Well. I landed and went back to the temple, and Chaya was there. She told me who she was and why she can't help us and why we can't go there. The other, ah, Ascended punished her for her interference when her people were attacked by the Wraith, and now she can only protect them. She wasn't exactly supposed to leave, I guess."

"She told you all this." Weir asked.

"Yes, she did." There was no way to explain what he'd learned in sharing; all the great and petty things that Chaya was and had been, the thousands of years of loneliness and responsibility and her longing to simply be human again and how it had led her to come back to Atlantis with him. John had seen all that was bright and dark in her, her resentment of Rodney and her distrust of most of the people she'd met in Atlantis, her desire to touch and be touched, and her genuine love for her people. "We can visit, but she can't tell us anything, because the others would intervene. If we settled anyone there and she protected them, the others would intervene."

"Did she manifest herself as human again?" Rodney asked coldly. "You said she appeared in the jumper."

John ignored him. "She said she was sorry, that she shouldn't have come, and she was sorry she can't help us."

Weir was watching him with an odd expression. "Would you mind answering Dr. McKay's question, Major?"

So that's how it was, John thought and glanced sidelong at Rodney. "In the jumper, she was still...well, pretty much energy, like herself, but definitely not solid. On the planet, she was human at first, and then more energy, and then human again."

"That might explain your readings, then," Rodney said and looked at Weir before pushing his laptop toward Elizabeth. "You see?"

Weir frowned at the screen. "That's odd."

Rodney looked at him. "Did she touch you in her energy form?"

John felt his face get hot. "Yeah, she did." He raised his chin. "It was sort of a sharing of who she was."

Rodney's expression went utterly blank. Weir, by contrast, looked appalled. "And did she share who you are, Major?"

"Well, that was the idea," John began and glanced over when Bates rose. "Hey, wait a minute."

"We need to change all the codes," Weir said wearily, looking at Bates and then at Rodney.

"Hey, she's no threat," John said, his temper rising. "She's only interested in protecting her people."

"We know Anubis is still out there somewhere," Rodney said, looking back at Weir. "And we know he's still caught between Ascended and not Ascended. I don't think he can travel like the other Ascended, but I can't be sure. I don't think Chaya or Athar or whatever her name is could ever be forced by the Wraith to share what she knows, and I'd say the odds against Anubis showing up in Pegasus are high, but not impossible. Changing the all the security codes and the access codes should be sufficient."

"Good." Weir looked back at him. "Major, please report to the infirmary. Sergeant Bates will escort you."

Now John was really pissed. Rising, he shook his head. "I'm not compromised!"

Rodney didn't say anything, but he didn't have to; he folded his arms and stared at his laptop screen. Weir just looked at John, if he wasn't mistaken, with equal parts of pity and anger.

Goddammit. John looked at Bates, who had his hand on his sidearm and could not fucking believe it. "Come on, you guys, I'm not compromised, I'm still me."

"I'm sure you are, Major," Weir said politely. "But your readings are somewhat anomalous, and I'll feel a great deal better when I hear from Dr. Beckett that you're in good health and from Dr. McKay that your readings are normal, human readings. Until then, you're definitely relieved of duty, and confined to your quarters."

"I can't believe this," he said and looked angrily at Rodney. "I can't fucking believe this."

"Major," Weir said, and her tone had gone deadly. "You are relieved of duty. Sergeant Bates, if the Major refuses to go to the infirmary, you are authorized to use force."

"Jesus!" John held his hands up. "Fine, fine, I'm going. But this is nuts. Chaya isn't our enemy, and I'm not compromised, dammit."

"I hope that you're right on both counts, Major," Weir said, more gently. "I'll talk with you after Dr. Beckett is finished."

John shot Teyla and Rodney another angry look before stalking out.

"Do you really think I'm compromised, Sergeant?" he demanded, on the way to the infirmary.

Bates gave him a level look. "Sir, that's not for me to decide. I think it's a possibility. You took off alone in a jumper to go off-world and if Dr. McKay says your readings are off, it certainly seems possible."

"I was worried about Chaya," John said, angry again.

"The Ancients can take care of themselves," Bates said drily, then, "At the SGC, they've had a little experience with them. Not me personally, but believe me, I was briefed by the guys who were there. One of them wiped out a bunch of Jaffa, too, with a lightning bolt. Another one like this Chaya, he interfered in the test of a weapon that would have destroyed the planet they were testing it on. And, of course, there's Dr. Jackson."

"Dr. Daniel Jackson?" John frowned. "He's not an Ancient."

"Nope, but he was Ascended. For nearly a year, before they kicked him out, I guess. SG-1 found him, amnesiac and living with some nomads on another planet, a few months after Anubis wiped out Abydos." Bates' smile was humourless. "Probably a lot of names that don't mean anything to you, Major, since you weren't a part of the SGC before this trip."

John was having trouble wrapping his mind around the whole Dr. Jackson "was Ascended" thing. "Humans can become Ascended."

"Evidently, with a little help from an Ascended," Bates said and pressed the control on the door to the infirmary. "I guess this Chaya is one of the good ones, she didn't just yank you up there without asking, no matter how taken she was with you."

John opened his mouth. Closed it. "No, she didn't," he said and went through the open door, feeling a little stunned.

 

Beckett ran damn near every test John had ever heard of and then a few more besides. And then, as if that weren't enough, John had to undergo a pretty normal standard embarrassing physical exam and answer questions he was not at all happy about answering, even if Beckett was a physican. "Is this really necessary?" he snapped, after he'd assured Beckett that no, he hadn't actually had sex with Chaya.

"Given Dr. Weir's orders to me, yes," Beckett said, but his tone was kind. "I think we're done now, Major. You can get dressed again."

John just scowled, but Beckett yanked the curtain back around the bed and left him alone. He supposed he ought to be grateful Beckett didn't send Bates in to keep an eye on him, but he wasn't, he was seething instead. Once dressed, he emerged to find Weir in Beckett's office, with Bates standing near the infirmary door. In case he made a break for it, he thought and that only made him angrier.

"Sergeant," he snapped, "I guess you're supposed to escort me to my quarters?"

"Yes, sir," Bates agreed.

John figured. He gave Weir's profile one furious look and went with Bates.

Markham was standing outside John's quarters when they reached the door, standing outside John's door and armed. "Sir," Markham said to him, and looked nervously at Bates.

"Wait a minute," John said, even angrier than he had been. "You're putting me under guard?"

"Dr. Weir's orders, sir," Bates said, and his tone was actually sympathetic. "Sorry, sir."

John hit the control and stalked inside, hit the control again to close and lock it. He was so furious he was shaking; he sat down on the bed and held a hand up to see it trembling. Except it wasn't just because he was furious, was it, it was because he was shaking with reaction and maybe a little bit of fear and a lot of anger that he'd pumped up to keep himself from thinking too clearly about any of it.

Dammit.

Throwing himself back on his bed, John stared at the ceiling, willing his mind to clear, willing himself to calm down. He closed his eyes, summoned up a memory of the surf, of riding the waves, breathed in slowly and out slowly.

After a while, it worked, and John was tired, exhausted to the bone; closing his eyes, he slept, since there wasn't a damn thing he could at the moment anyway.

He dreamt badly, of people dying, some sickness that killed so many that the dead were left unburied until, at last, those still living morphed, as Chaya had morphed, into strands of light. He dreamt of the Wraith feeding, of feeling rage so great that S/he had scorched the Wraith from the surface of her world. He dreamt of pain, of being cast out and of being tied to the very core of a world that still housed living humans, of knowing of the millions upon millions of lives being taken, of hundreds of thousands of civilizations laid waste, and not being able to do anything.

He dreamt of Her/his rage directed at Rodney, sparking out like lightning strike while Rodney worked on that machine that had scanned Chaya, dreamt of Rodney's body charring and turning to ash, the stench thick in his nostrils. John woke to the taste of that rage in his mouth, as coppery and warm as blood and realized he'd bitten the inside of his mouth.

Sitting bolt upright, John found he was shaking and his shirt was drenched in his own sweat, and dear God, had that been Chaya in his head?

Chaya wouldn't have done anything to Rodney, he told himself, grasping after what he had felt on the planet; she wouldn't have, she'd saved her people and earned eternal exile, and she wouldn't have hurt Rodney just because he'd figured her out and mistrusted her, just because John had been pissed at Rodney. He got out of bed shakily and went to the door, opened it. Corporal Landers stood outside; evidently Markham had been relieved.

"Landers," he said hoarsely. "Is everything okay here? You—Dr. Weir and Dr. McKay are all right?"

Landers gave him a peculiar look. Great, he'd just earned more downtime. "Far as I know, sir. It's pretty late, I imagine they've gone to bed."

John's heart thumped hard. "Can you find out for me?"

Landers frowned and nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll do that, but Sergeant Bates says you need to stay in your quarters."

John nodded. "I will. Just find out, please. I'm, uh, I'm going to take a shower."

Landers nodded.

John closed the door again, leaned against the wall. He wondered what the hell Landers had been told, decided there was no point in worrying about it and went to grab clean sweats to take into the bathroom.

He stood under the hot water for a long while, longer than usual, leaned against the stall until the remembered stench in his nightmare came back with the faint taste of blood in his mouth and he had to vomit.

He didn't hate Rodney. He didn't, he'd been angry and embarrassed and entirely off balance by the fact that Rodney had been right. Leaning over the basin, John turned on the tap and rinsed out his mouth, fumbled in his dopp kit for his toothbrush and toothpaste and scrubbed the taste of—God, Chaya's?—rage out of his mouth.

He pulled on the sweats and walked out of the bathroom to find Elizabeth Weir sitting on his desk chair. She looked very tired and a little fragile and was wearing a nightshirt over her uniform pants and a jacket over that.

"Elizabeth," he said, startled and more than a little taken aback.

"I understand you had some concerns about me and Rodney." Her voice was very soft. "You want to tell me what that was about?"

John opened his mouth, hesitated. "It was stupid, I just—I was dreaming, I don't think I was all the way awake when I talked to Landers."

"You dreamt that something happened to me and Rodney?"

John twitched. "Rodney, actually."

Weir's gaze was somber. "What did you dream?"

John's heart thumped too fast and too hard. "Elizabeth?"

"There was an accident late this afternoon, John." She rose. "Rodney's in the infirmary."

He'd never actually thought anyone could feel their blood run cold. "What happened?" His chest ached. "Elizabeth, what happened?"

She rubbed her hands on her knees. "He was working on that biometric sensor array this afternoon. There was a power surge and Rodney—"

A wave of panic rolled over John, he couldn't let her finish. "He's not dead," he insisted and held a hand up. "He's not dead."

Weir shook her head. "No, he's not. He was, though. Clinically dead, I mean. Peter and some of the others started CPR immediately, and Carson got him on life support very, very quickly, so he's sure Rodney will be fine."

It was hard to breathe. John leaned back against the wall because he wasn't sure he could stand. "I dreamt he got struck by lightning," he whispered. "It burned him alive, turned him to ash."

Weir didn't say anything.

John put his hands over his eyes. "I can't—I don't understand what's happened here. He's going to be all right, right?"

"Carson believes he will be. He's breathing on his own, but he hasn't been fully conscious yet." Weir rose. "John, I know you were here all afternoon, so how do you suppose you dreamt something very similar to what actually happened to Rodney?"

John felt queasy. "I don't know."

"Neither do I." She looked as if she wanted to say something else, bit her lip instead and then went to the door.

John straightened away from the wall, took a step toward her. "Elizabeth, I'd like to see him, please."

Weir looked at him, pressed the door control. "In the morning, John. Try and get some rest. In the morning, I'm going to have Peter scan you again and then we'll be able to make some decisions. Carson says aside from some slightly anomalous readings he got from some of the Ancient medical scanners, you seem to be fine. I'd like to be sure those scans show normal before you go near Rodney."

"Elizabeth," he said, and his mouth had gone dry. "You don't really believe that I'd hurt him, do you?"

She looked at him for a long moment. "Not deliberately, John." Very softly, but it felt like a blow. "Not of your own free will." And on that, she left.

It took a long, long while to get back to sleep.

 

Morning was not much better, at least not until John got his second set of scans done in the infirmary and Grodin came in with Rodney's little device and ascertained that whatever the fuck had been going on with him yesterday, he was reading like a normal, 100% Earth human at present.

"Now can I see how Rodney's doing?"

Beckett gave him a long look. "I'm not sure he's up to visitors right now, Major."

John reached for patience. "Doc, come on, I just want to know how he's doing."

"I can tell you how he's doing," Beckett said shortly. "He's got some electrical burns, one eardrum ruptured, his heart stopped, and even once we got it started, we had to keep him on the respirator for several hours. He's still confused and doesn't remember the last twenty-four hours, so there is some retrograde amnesia, but thankfully, his reflexes tested normal this morning. I'm thinking there's no major injury to his nervous system. No intracranial bleeding, but the amnesia has me a bit worried about brain injury."

John wanted to throw up again. "Christ."

Beckett nodded. "Oh, aye. For a while there, I thought—well, the tide turned early this morning, thank God, and I stopped worrying quite so much. At any rate, Major, he's not really up to a nice chat."

"I just wanted to say hello," John said hollowly. "How did this happen?"

Beckett looked at him for a moment. "No one seems to know," he finally said quietly. "Because the records on power use and consumption don't reflect the power surge. And for a power surge, it looked and acted like a lightning strike, according to Dr. Grodin and Dr. Zelenka, who were present at the time."

John really was going to be sick again. He slid off the examination table. "So am I considered safe now?"

"Elizabeth's waiting outside for you, Major." Beckett's tone was kind. "I'll let you know when Rodney's ready for visitors."

"Thanks." John left, found Weir standing outside one of the rooms used for intensive care. When he reached her side, he saw Rodney through the glass wall, apparently asleep, one side of his face looking like a really bad case of sunburn, some of his hair apparently burned off on the side of his head. His right arm was swathed in gauze. "What happened to his arm?" he asked, horrified.

Weir glanced at him. "Electrical burns." Softly.

Rodney had what seemed like a dozen monitors attached to him in various places, and the unburned side of his face looked...chalky. "He looks terrible," John said, and his throat hurt. "Jesus, Elizabeth, you don't really think I did that to him, do you?"

"I don't think you did that, no." Her voice was still soft. "You know very well who I believe did this to Rodney."

John didn't want to know. He didn't want to believe it. But Chaya had 'shared' herself with him and there were things in his dreams that weren't...his. "You think Chaya did this," he said, and he wasn't feeling quite as certain any longer that she wouldn't have done something like this.

It had been clear enough yesterday during the negotiations that Chaya was angry with Rodney for scanning her, that she'd judged Rodney and found him wanting. And now that John wasn't angry himself, he could remember Rodney's tone, that hint of almost wistfulness as he'd asked Chaya why, as he'd told her how much she could teach them. If she could destroy Wraith darts, a little lightning bolt aimed at one human being wouldn't be a reach.

It felt like someone had an iron grip on John's throat. "He's going to be okay, right?"

"We hope so." Weir looked at him. "You've been cleared, John. But you and I need to have a talk about what happened yesterday."

"You said I could go."

"I know. But then I also told you that you couldn't fight a Wraith attack by yourself. And I didn't think you were really going to go alone. Somehow, I thought you'd be taking a team with you." Weir kept looking at him. "It was dangerous of you to go alone, John, and worse, it was dangerous for us."

John knew that. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew it. He set his jaw and looked at Rodney, which was enough to make him nod grudgingly. "You're right."

Weir looked faintly surprised. "I'm glad you see it." Mild tone. "I've spoken to Sergeant Bates. As I said, you're cleared, but I'd like you to stay on base for a while, too. Given the changes in readings over twenty-four hours, Carson would like to monitor you a bit longer. If there are flights to the mainland needed, you can certainly take those, but nothing off-world for the moment."

John nodded. "Well, part of my team is grounded, so yeah." He couldn't take his eyes off Rodney, he could see Rodney breathing, and that was reassuring because Rodney was lying awfully damn still. "Beckett said he was on a respirator."

"Almost all night," Weir said. "I gather it's not uncommon in this kind of thing."

Rodney had one of those oxygen things under his nose, a cannula, John thought they were called. He put his hand on the window, wishing Rodney would wake up. "When can he have visitors?"

Weir sighed. "John, I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist that you don't visit him."

John looked at her and his stomach knotted. "You know I didn't do this. You just said so. You believe Chaya did it."

She looked at him. "But I believe she did it through you, somehow."

Okay, that did it, he was going to throw up. Hastily muttering some excuse, John fled.

 

John was out on the balcony in the after when Teyla came looking for him. "Major," she said and leaned against the railing. "You are well?"

"Not so much," John said and looked at her directly. "Really, not so much."

Teyla nodded as if she understood. Maybe she did. "Dr. McKay's condition has improved. He was allowed one visitor for ten minutes this afternoon, and Lieutenant Ford was permitted to speak with him."

"How is he?" John wanted to go to the infirmary so badly it made his teeth ache. He wanted to apologize, even though he still couldn't buy that Chaya had used him as, what, a fucking conduit? He didn't buy it. He couldn't buy it. Maybe he just wanted to apologize for being wrong when Rodney had been, after all, right.

"Lieutenant Ford says he appears to have lost some recent memories," Teyla said mildly. "He does not recall Chaya at all."

That made John queasy again. "He doesn't?"

"Nor does he recall our visit to her planet." Teyla gave him a level look. "Dr. Weir is very concerned."

"So am I." John's mouth had gone dry again and he realized that somewhere in the hours he'd actually managed to get more sleep, his unconscious mind had totally bought into the idea that somehow, Chaya had done this to Rodney, and his unconscious mind was as horrified as his conscious mind.

More horrified, because his conscious mind still remembered how warm and soft her lips had been, and his unconscious was screaming that he'd been kissing something that was not only not human anymore, it had only pretended to be human and no longer understood human concerns, no longer felt human compassion or emotion.

And really, what did they know about the Ancients other than the Ancients had been a thriving technological civilization while humans were still not walking upright?

John felt sick again. She'd walked around in his mind, she'd seen everything he was, good and bad and indifferent. And now he was carrying memories of her good, bad and indifferent around, apparently in his subconscious.

If he'd been out of his quarters, he might have suspected that he had indeed had something to do with what happened to Rodney. But it wouldn't have been his doing.

No, it would have been Chaya's and that made him as sick as knowing that Rodney could be dead now.

In a way, even if it wasn't his doing, it was his fault.

He was going to the infirmary, dammit. Beckett could try to throw him out, but he needed to see Rodney was doing better for himself. "Thanks, Teyla. I'm going to go and see how he's doing."

Teyla smiled a little. "I think he may appreciate that."

John hoped so. If Rodney had really lost the memories, he wouldn't remember that they'd both been angry. Just in case, he made a stop on the way to obtain a peace offering.

Beckett was engaged in a discussion in his office, and the nurses weren't looking, so John snuck into the intensive care room, and Rodney squinted at him.

"Hey," John said softly. "How are you feeling?"

"What?" Rodney blinked at him.

Broken eardrum, John remembered and repeated it, a little louder.

Rodney's frown was a little glazed. "Sort of drugged up, and still hurting."

John's chest ached. "Yeah, I bet. Hey, I cadged some chocolate. Are you allowed?"

Rodney considered that. "Right now, I can't taste anything, I dunno why."

"That sucks," John told him.

Rodney nodded blearily. "And my vision's blurry."

John's heart clenched. "Is that normal?"

"I guess," Rodney's voice was thin and exhausted and his eyes closed briefly. "Ford said we had a mission yesterday?"

"Yeah." His mouth went dry again.

"'S weird, last thing I remember is going over some notes in my lab." Rodney reached up with his unbandaged hand, touched the burned side of his face, which was shiny with ointment and winced. "Ow."

"That's a little red," John said and put the chocolate bar down on the table beside the bed. "You want some water?"

Rodney's eyes closed briefly again. "Um, no thanks. Think I'll just sleep."

"Okay." He patted Rodney's unburnt arm lightly. "Best thing for you, I bet."

"Tell Carson," Rodney told him and blinked owlishly at him. "He keeps waking me up."

God. John tried for a smile, and evidently it passed because Rodney's eyes closed for real this time.

Beckett caught him coming out of the room and glared at him. "Major, you were expressly ordered not to see Rodney."

John stopped, hesitated. "Look, I just needed to see him, okay? I just—if Chaya did do this, I needed to know he was okay."

Some of Beckett's temper eased. "He is manifestly not okay, Major."

"You know what I mean," John said, feeling a little desperate, "That he'll be okay."

"Aye, well, he's doing much better this afternoon than we'd any right to expect." Grudging look. "I'm sorry, Major, but really, I'm limiting his visitors for a reason. I know you're his team leader—"

Stung, John said, "I'm his friend!"

Beckett studied him. "And his friend," he agreed, although there was a hint of doubt underlying his tone. "He needs rest, and he's not completely out of the woods yet, he's still experiencing some cardiac irregularities."

John nodded, queasy again. "And that's pretty normal for something like this, right?"

Beckett made an exasperated sound. "Aye, it's pretty normal for a lightning strike, Major, but usually a lightning strike doesn't happen indoors when there's no storm or lightning outside."

Chaya, John thought and felt sick again.

He'd brought her here, he'd been attracted to her, he'd kissed her and wanted more, and he didn't know what else to think, based on the evidence, but that she had been angry at Rodney and done something about it. "Dr. Weir thinks somehow that Chaya used me to do this. Could that be true?" It hurt even to ask the question.

Beckett's expression shifted to surprise. "Major, I canna even tell you how it is that she managed to fool my scans into thinking she was corporeal, so I certainly canna say whether or not it was possible for her to use you to harm Rodney."

Somehow, that wasn't reassuring in the least. "But my own scans are normal today."

"Very," Beckett said, and there was more sympathy in his voice. "Whatever was affecting you when you returned from that planet is gone, at least according to the tests I ran this morning."

John nodded. "So when can I come back?"

Another exasperated look. "When Dr. Weir says you can, Major. Now get ouf of here before I feel compelled to report that you're still not heeding your orders."

That stung, but John supposed he deserved it. He left anyway, went about his business, and tried to pretend that most of Atlantis wasn't looking askance at him and wondering if he were responsible for what had happened to Rodney.

He just wished he knew.

 

It was three days before Beckett finally released Rodney from the infirmary.

"I still don't remember anything," Rodney complained, "Are you sure I didn't suffer any brain damage?"

"I'm sure, Rodney," Beckett said, long-suffering. "No skull fracture, no apparent damage to either your central or sympathetic nervous system. You were incredibly lucky that you weren't alone when this happened."

John, leaning against the door, felt his stomach do an unpleasant roll. "Yeah, definitely," he muttered.

"Damn straight," Ford said cheerfully. Teyla smiled faintly at him and nodded agreement.

"It's just strange," Rodney said grumpily. "I can't remember a thing about our last mission and Elizabeth won't let anyone fill me in yet."

"She wants you to concentrate on recovering, Rodney," Beckett said. "Now you had better leave before I change my mind."

"That's why we're here, to get him out of your hair," John said, trying for humour.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Thank you very much, Major."

"You're welcome," John said and got a strange look from Ford. "How's your ear?"

"Deafened," Rodney told him snarkily and leaned over to finish tying his shoes. "Although at least it's not as painful now."

"Dr. Beckett says you are healing well," Teyla said mildly.

"Considering I was dead, I'm not inclined to disagree with him," Rodney said and rubbed his chest with his unbandaged hand before getting off the bed.

"And I don't want you working yet," Beckett said firmly. "At least not in the lab."

Rodney frowned. "Why not?"

"Rodney, I'm only releasing you because you're driving my staff around the bend," Beckett said, his tone just a little edged. "And if you recall, I told you I'd release you to your quarters, not to a regular work schedule. Not that you know what such a thing is, mind, and I'm certainly not releasing you to your usual twenty hour a day schedule."

Startled, John looked at Beckett, mouthed 'twenty hours". Beckett nodded, his mouth quirking. "Okay, Rodney, that's gotta stop."

Rodney frowned. "What precisely about not having enough power and needing defensive capability do you not understand, Major?"

"You can't do it all alone," John said, reasonably enough, "And if you're dead from overwork, you can't do it at all. You were up almost all night the other night, too."

Something flickered in Rodney's eyes and he frowned. "I don't remember," he admitted and sighed. "All right, no lab. I've got things I can work on in my quarters."

"While resting," Beckett said firmly.

Rodney scowled. "While resting."

"We'll make sure of it, Doc," Ford said, laughing a little.

Rodney rolled his eyes and gestured. "Leaving now," he said pointedly and went through the door.

John followed and Ford and Teyla fell into step with him.

"I'm perfectly capable of getting to my quarters unescorted," Rodney told John when he caught up. "Really, Major."

"Just keeping you company," John said easily and caught another odd look from Ford in his peripheral vision. He turned his head, frowned at Ford. "I'll make sure he gets there."

"That's okay, sir," Ford said, a little too brightly. "We've missed him."

Rodney snorted. "Right."

"We have," Ford insisted.

"I'm not going to hurt him," John said irritably, correctly guessing what this was about.

"All due respect, sir," Ford said, "But you're not even supposed to be here."

Rodney frowned and stopped walking. "What?"

John stopped, too. "That's enough, Lieutenant," he said, quelling his temper with an effort.

Ford's chin came up. "Sir." Politely.

"What?" Rodney repeated, irritable again. "Why not?" He looked at John. "What have you done now?"

John swallowed hard. "Nothing."

"Sir," Ford repeated, still polite.

"You do not remember," Teyla told Rodney kindly, "But there was some concern that the Major might have been compromised by his contact with the—" She hesitated, glanced at John, and sighed. "By the woman we believed to be the high priestess Chaya on the planet we visited before you were injured."

"The mission I don't remember," Rodney said, frowning again. "At all. Which is odd, because I could understand not remembering the accident, but I—"

"Beckett says retrograde amnesia isn't all that surprising, considering," John said quickly. "You were clinically dead, Rodney, and I'm not compromised, I've been cleared for duty, Lieutenant."

Ford just looked at him, obviously unwilling to debate in front of Rodney. Which was good, because John so did not want to get into the whole thing again in a public corridor.

"Compromised how?" Rodney wanted to know.

"It doesn't matter," John insisted, "Because I'm not."

Rodney didn't stop frowning, but he did start walking again. By the time they reached his quarters, he was a little pale and John was relieved he hadn't fallen down or wavered.

Ford, damn him, wasn't about to leave John alone with Rodney, he could see that from the set of Ford's jaw. So he made sure Rodney actually got into bed, got him his laptop and a couple of books and then left Ford and Teyla with him to go in search of Weir.

"So how long am I not allowed to talk to Rodney," he asked sharply, stalking into her office.

Weir arched an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware you'd actually followed my orders in that regard," she told him drily, "Since Carson has told me you've deliberately ignored them more than once."

"I haven't been alone with him," John objected.

"No, but I asked you not to see him at all." Weir folded her hands. "Fortunately, there don't seem to have been any ill effects."

"Did you really think there would be?" John was feeling put upon and guilty at the same time. He wouldn't have felt guilty at all except he was still having dreams that weren't his, exactly, and none of them were particularly pleasant.

"I had no way of knowing," Weir said calmly. "You were, after all, asleep when lightning apparently leapt out of that biometric sensor array and struck Rodney. And while it's possible that Chaya or Athar traveled back to Atlantis and manifested it herself, the anomalous readings Peter and Carson got from you suggest that she did, in fact, send some sort of energy back with you."

"So we're back to the point that you do think I did that to him," John said flatly. "But now my readings are normal, so what the hell could I do to him now?"

"Chaya was clearly angry with Rodney," Weir said coolly. "And while we've been thinking of the Ancients as beneficent, I think that may be dangerously naïve. Rodney's done more research into that nanocyte outbreak, and he's less certain that the Ancients didn't have a hand in creating it."

Jesus, things just kept getting better and better. "So now you think they're the bad guys?"

Weir looked a little sad. "No, I just think they're no better and no wiser than we humans have been. Technological advancement doesn't necessarily include an ability to use that advancement wisely or humanely. I think we've wanted to believe they were better, but now I'm coming to see the danger in that viewpoint."

John remembered the dream of the lightning burning Rodney alive and swallowed the acid that rose in his throat. "You're telling me that you believe she's still a danger to us."

"I think it's a possibility." Weir sighed. "I don't like to consider that possibility, John. But consider this: she fixed on you from the start, from what Teyla tells me, and you're the only one on your team who was born with the ATA gene."

John frowned. "And?"

"And perhaps that's why she fixed on you," Weir said gently. "And if that's the case, perhaps she's not going to be willing to let go."

"If she'd wanted to keep me there, she could have done it," John objected. "She could have damaged the jumper, she could have even damaged the gate."

"Which might have drawn the attention of the others," Weir said softly. "And whatever energy you were carrying back, well, perhaps that was just one way of avoiding their attention."

He couldn't stand thinking about that. "Elizabeth, this is so nuts, how can I do my job if you're convinced I'm a concealed weapon?"

"John, I'm just exercising caution." She folded her hands and looked at him. "And asking you to do the same thing."

John closed his eyes briefly, queasy with something a lot like dread. "Fine. For how long?"

"I don't know." Very softly.

Great. Fucking wonderful.

Worst of all, John couldn't be completely sure Weir wasn't right. He'd been so fucking stupid and reckless, so totally and irredeemably stupid, and wasn't that what his father had once told him about letting his dick do the driving? "Okay. Fine." He turned abruptly and walked out of Weir's office, unable to think of anything sane or collected to say.

He'd blown it completely, totally screwed up, and he had no one to blame but himself. He was just going to have to suck it up and do whatever he needed to do to rebuild trust in him, whether it was Weir's trust or his team's trust.

The road to hell really was paved with good intentions.

 

As far as John could tell, Rodney did a lot of sleeping the next few days, and every time he tried to stop by, one of the Marines just happened to be in the hallway near Rodney's quarters. He refused to allow himself the paranoid notion that they were keeping an eye on him, but it was unsettling, to say the least.

For John's part, he had to see Grodin every few days for new scans to prove that he wasn't still being affected in any way. Grodin was beginning to sound almost apologetic every time John showed up, so he guessed Grodin was nearly as embarrassed to have to do it as John was to have it done. Weir was pleasant and professional, but distant, and he hated that as much as having to wonder if he had, in fact, somehow brought something back that had nearly killed Rodney.

On the fourth evening after Rodney's release from the infirmary, John was in his quarters reading when there was a knock at his door. "Come in," he called.

The door opened and Rodney came just inside.

John sat up. "Hey, how are you doing?"

Rodney's expression was set. "I've just spoken with Elizabeth after going over the biometric readings Dr. Grodin has been taking, and I believe she's feeling more certain that you're no longer affected by whatever energy fields Chaya left."

Shit. "I guess you've remembered the mission, then."

"Some bits and pieces," Rodney said. "But I took fairly detailed notes of my observations, and I read them." He started to turn to leave.

"Wait a minute," John said and swung his legs to the floor. "Is that why you came, to tell me that Elizabeth didn't think I was in any danger of alien influence?"

Rodney turned around. "No, I came to tell you that Elizabeth no longer believes that you're a possible danger to others."

John opened his mouth, thought better of it and nodded. Then, because he couldn't help himself, he asked, "Rodney, do you think I was responsible for what happened to you?"

"Not directly," Rodney said, and his tone was uninflected. "No."

John didn't know if he should feel better or not. "But you think I was indirectly responsible."

Rodney folded his arms. "Chaya or whoever she is was certainly displeased by the fact that I was scanning her."

John had a lump in his throat the size of a golf ball. "Yeah, maybe. And maybe I am indirectly responsible. But Rodney, you have to know if I'd known, I wouldn't have—" He wouldn't have what? Kissed a beautiful woman? Let her 'share' with him? Brought her back to Atlantis?

He wished he knew.

Rodney regarded him almost dispassionately. "You were pretty angry, too, Major."

John winced at that. "Is that one of the pieces you remembered?"

"Not exactly." Rodney wasn't giving him a goddamn thing.

"Let me guess, Elizabeth told you."

"Notes," Rodney said and smiled thinly. "Very detailed notes."

John wasn't sure what to say, but felt driven to say something. "I'm sorry about that. I mean, losing my temper."

Rodney gave him an odd look and turned to leave again.

"Rodney," he said, a little desperately, "You have to know that whatever the fuck happened, it wasn't anything I wanted to happen."

"Right," Rodney said, and looked at him sidelong. "At least not consciously."

"Not even unconsciously," he said insistently.

He wasn't sure Rodney bought it. Hell, he could no longer be sure he bought it.

Rodney nodded fractionally. "I've given Elizabeth some recommendations for your fourth," he said evenly and then opened the door and went out.

John stood there, stunned to stillness. Rodney was quitting the team, he told himself and Jesus, what the hell was wrong with him, he felt betrayed, he felt anger and he felt...like he'd lost something he hadn't realized he'd valued until he lost it.

He hadn't felt that way until now, despite the fact that he'd evidently lost a lot with his insane dash back to help someone who sure as hell hadn't needed help from him or anyone else.

It was hard to sleep that night, and in the morning, John went to talk to Weir.

"I need your help," he told her.

Weir arched her eyebrows. "With?"

"I need you to see if you can persuade Rodney not to leave the team." John faced her across the desk. "At least not permanently."

Weir studied his face. "John, I don't know if that's possible. You know, he's still recovering—"

"I know that." He hadn't thought of it as a possible reason for Rodney's decision, though.

She seemed to consider her words carefully. "Carson isn't sure how long that will take, John."

John's throat ached again. "For him to recover? But he's doing great."

"Well, yes, he is." Weir looked uncomfortable.

"Isn't he?" John rose. "Elizabeth, is there something wrong with Rodney?"

She shook her head apologetically. "John, this isn't right, if you're concerned, you need to ask him yourself. "

She was right, he realized. "I don't know if he'll tell me."

"Then it isn't my place to discuss it with you," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

"Right," John said, though it was hard to talk. "Do you know where he is now?"

"I believe he's working in one of the labs," she said.

"Thanks."

So John had a mission, of sorts, even if it took him the better part of an hour to track down which lab Rodney was working in. Rodney was alone, blessedly, and he didn't hear John come in, something John realized when he hit Rodney's peripheral vision and Rodney nearly leapt out of his skin and knocked something off the lab table.

"Sorry, sorry," John said and picked it up. He didn't recognize the device, but Rodney snatched it back with his left hand. "Really, I wasn't thinking, I forgot about your ear."

Rodney scowled at him and put the thing back on the table. "What can I do for you?"

"You can stay on the team, that's what you can do for me," John said bluntly. "Look, I screwed up, I screwed up big time, and I don't blame you for being pissed off, but please, don't quit the team."

Rodney frowned at him. "I'm not pissed off," he said irritably. "I'm not in any shape to be in the field at the moment."

"I understand that, Rodney, but you're getting better, right?" John leaned on the table, feeling better than he had any right to feel just because it seemed to be about Rodney's injuries and recovery time. "So it's just a temporary thing."

"Maybe." Rodney looked back at his laptop. "Maybe not."

John felt sick again. "Rodney, what's going on?"

Rodney sighed. "My vision's still screwed up. And my fingers are still pretty numb." He pushed something on the table further away from the edge. "It's not unlike the effects of the Wraith stunner, really. Except it's not exactly numb, it's more like pins and needles."

John's heart was thumping too damn hard. "What's wrong with your vision?"

Rodney shrugged. "One eye's a little blurry. Carson says it could be a cataract, that's one of the things that happens sometimes after a lightning strike. Or it could just be a temporary effect."

It took John a minute to process that information, and when he did--"Jesus." He felt sick again, but he also felt anger, anger at Chaya and at himself. "Oh, Jesus, Rodney, I'm so goddamn sorry."

Rodney frowned at him. "I'm fine, Major."

John was shaking, and trying not to, and all he could do hold on to the edge of the lab table. "No, you're not."

Rodney was silent a moment. "Neither are you," he said shortly. "Look, forget it. It wasn't your fault. I'm the one who made her angry with me, I insisted on it even though Elizabeth wasn't all that sure it was a good idea. And we don't know for certain it was even her." The last was added grudgingly, as if Rodney were throwing him a bone.

"I think it was," John said hollowly, "I've got stuff in my head that's like, that's her memories, and her feelings and I dreamt that she was furious with you, that I saw the lightning hit you." He shook his head, didn't dare look directly at Rodney. "It's like all this darkness is floating up from somewhere and it's nothing I've ever seen or experienced and it's hers."

Rodney didn't say anything. When John risked glancing at him, he saw Rodney's mouth was a thin, flat line. "I'm sorry," he said again, and God, he was, he couldn't believe how wrong he'd been, how reckless and stupid he'd been, and how the hell did he explain that, and what difference could it possibly make to someone who had nearly died because of it? "Sorry," he said again and left before he made things worse.

John managed to stay busy the rest of the day, but the problem was, being stuck in Atlantis meant he had time to think about things he'd been trying for too long not to think about. When he returned to his quarters that evening, he was depressed and tired, and Rodney was waiting outside his quarters, arms folded.

God. "Hi," he said and pressed the control for the door. "You wanna come in?"

Rodney shook his head. "I just talked to Elizabeth. We've got to be realistic about this, you've got to choose someone else."

John's heart thumped too hard. "I don't want someone else." And the minute the words left his mouth, the final piece of the puzzle inside his head slotted into place.

Oh, fuck, he really didn't want anyone else, and that was one of the reasons he'd let himself dive into flirtation with someone who wasn't what she appeared to be, why he'd let himself be blinded to that possibility and been so angry with Rodney.

He somehow managed to keep talking anyway. "And I am being realistic, Rodney, I want you on the team, I like having you on the team. And I'm so goddamn sorry for all of this, I don't even know how to say it. I screwed up, I screwed up big time, and you're paying the price for it."

Rodney didn't seem any too appreciative of that. "Major, bringing her back to Atlantis wasn't necessarily a bad idea, given what the goal was. Her deception wasn't your doing."

"It doesn't matter, things still ended up the same, didn't they?" John swallowed hard. "I went back to that planet, I let her walk through my mind." Oh, God, could that be why Rodney had been targeted, had she seen this in his mind? "I'm so goddamn sorry, Rodney—"

"Don't you dare feel sorry for me," Rodney snapped, "I don't need your pity or your guilt, Major, so just get the hell over it."

Stunned, John couldn't think of an answer quickly enough, and then Rodney was halfway down the corridor and he couldn't answer, he didn't want to have to shout or chase Rodney down.

John stepped into his quarters and slammed his hand down on the door control hard enough to bruise his hand.

It was time for a hard look at what he'd been doing. He'd rescued the Marines and some of the Athosians, but he'd awakened the Wraith. He'd found what he thought might be sanctuary for all of them, but it hadn't been. John had gone from Afghanistan to McMurdo because he'd flouted orders, and maybe they were right, maybe some of his recklessness was PTSD, but he had to stop fucking around and pay attention or he was going to risk more than his own life.

Like Rodney's, for example.

A hot shower eased some of the knots of tension, but John stared at himself in the mirror after, saw somebody he didn't like a lot, somebody who was letting things slip, somebody who might be starting to slip a little too far and fast. He needed to shave, he needed a haircut, he needed to pull his head out of his ass and do his job. There were too many lives dependent on the results and repercussions of his actions here, and he had to get it right.

He had to start thinking and stop reacting.

Thinking about Rodney lying dead on the control room floor until Grodin and Zelenka got his heart and lungs started again made his hands shake, and he had to stop in the middle of shaving to stare into the mirror again until he could force himself back to calm.

Rodney wasn't the only life endangered as a result of John's recklessness; he'd had to move, had to do something when Petersen was loose and infected and in so doing, he'd inadvertently risked the lives in the mess hall, including Teyla's. Two scientists had died because John had made a bad decision about leaving them alone in the wrecked Wraith ship.

It had to stop. He had to stop it.

Dressed, John was out the door of his quarters before he realized where he was going, but he went anyway, knocked on Rodney's door. There was music playing inside, but no answer and he knocked again, finally pressed the control and walked in.

Of course, he'd forgotten about Rodney's hearing problem and startled Rodney, who was coming out of his bathroom and towel-drying his hair.

Rodney, as bare as the day he was born, dropped the towel, swore and grabbed it again, wrapped it around his waist and glared at John. "Do you ever knock?"

Embarrassed, John held up his hands. "I'm sorry, I got a little concerned, I forgot about—" He gestured vaguely at his own ear. "Look, I just came to say one thing, Rodney. I don't know how you expect me to feel, but I brought her here, I let myself get taken in all the way, and even when I knew what she was, I was still too fucking stupid to have sense enough to be cautious. So yeah, I feel guilty because somebody got hurt, and I feel even guiltier because it's somebody I like and respect and it's not about feeling sorry for you. It's about trying to apologize because you were right, and because I lost my temper about it, and because I fucked up." His voice rose and cracked upward on the last word and he had to stop, swallow hard and wait a second until he could see again. "And that's all," he added and turned to reach for the door control.

Rodney's glare had died down a lot. "Just—just wait a minute, all right?"

He looked back at Rodney, nodded and swallowed hard again, this time because, Jesus, Rodney was naked, and damp and looking tired and vulnerable. Thank God for the towel, he wasn't sure he had the self-control to keep his eyes from dropping, and that was a hell of a thing, to want to check Rodney's body out when he was desperately trying to save whatever friendship they might have.

Rodney grabbed some clean clothes and went back into the bathroom. Feeling awkward, John sat down on Rodney's desk chair and looked around. He hadn't ever really been in Rodney's quarters before, and somehow he'd expected more clutter, along the lines of Rodney's lab tables. There was paperback book on Rodney's bed and he tilted his head to read the title, grinned for the first time in what felt like weeks; Rodney was reading Good Omens. Or rereading it: the book was worn by lots of handling, and he leaned over and picked it up, smiling as he read the first page.

The bathroom door slid open and Rodney emerged, wearing an ancient t-shirt with a faded to illegibility caption and grey sweatpants with a hole in the knee. He was barefoot and his hair was still damp and sticking up in all directions.

John's mouth went a lot dry. Rodney frowned at the sight of his book in John's hand, went to a cabinet to pull out a pair of white socks, and sat down on his bed to put them on.

"Great book," John said and gestured with it.

Rodney's frown cleared. "Yeah, it is."

"The Discworld series is hysterical."

"I haven't read that," Rodney admitted. "But I've read some of Pratchett's other books."

"Gaiman?"

"Of course." Rodney's mouth curved a little. "You didn't exactly strike me as a science fiction reader, Major."

"Shows what you know about me," John said and his mouth was dry again, his heart thumping a little too hard "And you know, we're not on duty, you could call me something besides Major."

Rodney's eyebrows rose. "Hey, you?"

Nerves or not, John had to laugh. "John would work."

"You call me McKay as often as you call me Rodney," Rodney pointed out.

"Okay, Sheppard then," John said, just a little disappointed.

Rodney's smile twitched again. "John," he conceded, then, "Okay, I accept your apology, but I have to tell you, you have got to stop this. You blame yourself for waking the Wraith, but there was no way you could have known about the necklace and the tracking device in the pendant. And if you want to use fuzzy reasoning to blame yourself, consider that I'm the one who suggested you could use the jumper on a rescue mission, so maybe I'm to blame, too. The Wraith might not have awakened if you hadn't had to kill the caretaker, but even that can't really be laid at your door."

"We couldn't leave our people there," John said, frowning.

"Exactly." Rodney raised his chin.

"I don't think that absolves me," John said doubtfully.

"It doesn't. It just means you can't carry all the blame." Rodney's eyebrows rose again. "And logically, there wasn't any way you could have known Chaya or Athar, or whoever the hell she is, was an Ancient. She was lying, John."

John looked at the book in his hands. "Logically? Who are you now, Spock?"

Rodney snorted. "God, I hope not, that means you really are Kirk."

John looked up, caught the trace of a smile on Rodney's face. "I didn't, uh, you know."

Rodney looked blank. "What?"

God, he was embarrassing himself and he couldn't seem to stop. "I didn't have sex with her."

John hadn't known Rodney's eyebrows could rise that high. "You mean corporeal?" Dryly.

Shit, he was blushing. "Well, the other thing wasn't exactly sex, Rodney, by nature of the definition of sex."

"Mind melding," Rodney said, still dry. "Well, you were right about one thing, it's not exactly my business whether or not you did, especially in hindsight."

John almost managed to smile. "You said it was."

"I said it was my business whether or not a deceptive alien had the ranking military officer of Atlantis wrapped around her finger," Rodney told him and then went pensive. "At least that's what I wrote in my notes, more or less."

John sighed. "Well, I still did that sharing thing even after I knew she was an Ancient and deceptive."

Rodney eyed him. "You're right, that was incredibly stupid."

John's face got hot again. "I know."

Rodney sighed. "And I might have been a little unfair when I said that maybe unconsciously..." He gestured vaguely.

John's spirits lifted right up, that's how bad he had it. "Thanks." He looked back at the book. "Really."

Rodney was silent for a moment. "Are you planning on stealing that?"

John looked up again, startled. "Oh, uh, no. Here." He handed the book back and stood up. "Um, thanks, Rodney."

A little line appeared between Rodney's eyebrows. "Are you all right? Really?"

John shrugged. "I don't know, I guess. I didn't get zapped by mystery lightning."

"You don't look too well." Rodney's frown deepened.

"I'm not sleeping well," John admitted. "Really crappy dreams. About plague and people dying, lots of people, and nobody to bury the dead. I think it's something—something left over."

Rodney's expression was...extremely unsettled. "I hope to hell something we can use was left over."

"No, no maps to functioning ZPMs," John said and tried to smile. "But if I dream about any, I'll let you know."

Rodney didn't look like he found that amusing. "Have you thought about, well, talking to Dr. Heightmeyer?"

John winced. "No."

Rodney lifted his chin. "It might help."

"Listen, I had to talk to her after I shot Sumner, and once was enough." Which was stupid and shortsighted, he knew, and Rodney's expression confirmed that. "I might, okay. It's only been a few days."

"Eight," Rodney said precisely.

"Okay, it's only been eight days." John felt a wave of affectionate exasperation. Rodney could drive him nuts a lot of the time, but he was so...Rodney. "Which still isn't a long time."

"Maybe it seemed longer because I was enduring medically enforced boredom," Rodney said thoughtfully.

"They wouldn't let me see you," John blurted.

Rodney looked at him again, eyes widening slightly. "What?"

"Elizabeth, Beckett, the Marines, they wouldn't let me see you." He sounded like a complete idiot, John thought, but plunged on recklessly. "They thought something might happen to you, I guess. Even though my readings are all supposedly normal."

Rodney's expression was surprised. "But you were in the infirmary," he began and then, "Oh, that whole discussion with Ford."

"Yeah." John nodded. "In fact, I think Elizabeth thinks I should still stay away from you."

Rodney blinked. "Well, you're the only one in danger from that. If you apologize one more time, I may hit you."

John's face went hot again. "Thanks for the warning."

Rodney made a noncommittal sound. "I don't think she still believes you're a danger to anyone."

"Oh, I don't know." John said it a little bitterly. "Hell, I worry about it a little. What with the damn dreams. Except I feel like myself, and Grodin keeps telling me I'm completely normal."

Rodney studied him thoughtfully. "I can't blame them for the precautions, but I admit, I just thought you were still pretty angry when Ford and Teyla kept coming by and you didn't."

That made John's throat hurt again. "I wanted to."

Rodney smiled, really smiled, not the quirk of a smile he used when he was amused or cracking wise. It made him look younger, not as tired, but just as vulnerable. "Well, I appreciate the thought."

John nodded awkwardly. "Well. Good night."

Rodney nodded. "Try and get some sleep, John, or Elizabeth will ground you again."

John nodded and fled before he could blurt anything else out.

 

In the days that followed, John unbent enough to accept Rodney's recommendations for various uneventful missions, although he insisted to Rodney, "This is temporary. Totally temporary. You're not off the team, Rodney, it's not that easy."

Rodney, naturally, rolled his eyes. "Of course, Major."

After a few weeks of having his scan readings remain at human normal, Weir put John back on the mission rotation, and things seemed to really start to get back to normal, aside from having a different fourth member anytime they went offworld. Ford and Teyla treated him normally, too, thank God, so they'd gotten past that hurdle, and even he was startled by how grateful he was for that.

John's sleep hadn't improved, however, although at least he hadn't had any more horrific dreams about Rodney or anyone else on Atlantis. Once he woke in the deep of the night with an uneasy feeling that he'd dreamt Chaya had come back to Atlantis and he'd refused to speak to her, but there wasn't anything glowy in his room, and when he'd gone to Grodin in the morning and insisted on being scanned, Grodin had silently showed him the results with an I-Told-You-So expression on his face.

Normal human readings.

And naturally, Grodin told Weir and when John got back from a perfectly ordinary flight to the mainland, Weir summoned him to her office.

Ford gave him a sympathetic look. "Good luck, sir."

"I haven't done anything, Ford," he said, a little amused and a little apprehensive at the same time.

Naturally, Weir brought up Heightmeyer. "I think it might be a good idea if you talk to Dr. Heightmeyer," she said mildly.

"Elizabeth, it was just a damn dream, it freaked me out a little bit." John wasn't going to fight if she insisted, he decided, because he didn't want to go through the last few weeks again. Ever. "If I'd been really freaked out, I'd have woken Dr. Grodin up and insisted right then."

HE saw the ghost of a smile flicker. "Well, I suppose that makes sense. But I'm only suggesting, John. I think you're still feeling a lot of weight from what happened to Rodney."

John frowned. "Did Rodney say so?"

"Not exactly." This time, the smile stayed longer. "But you are, aren't you?"

John sighed, shrugged. "Look, if you really want me to talk to her, I will. I'm just not sure it's going to make any difference. I've already told you, I'm well aware that I screwed up, and that Rodney paid for that screw-up." He sighed again. "And yeah, I screwed up earlier, ordering Bates to override the protocol against your orders. I'm sorry for that."

Oh, he'd surprised her; she looked at him as if she didn't know how to respond to that.

John felt a guilty pleasure over that.

"Well, yes," Weir said finally. "John, are you sure you're all right? Carson said you were having trouble sleeping."

Dammit. So much for confidentiality. "I've had some trouble sleeping," John said carefully. "There's a lot of stuff I picked up from Chaya's mind that seems to surface when I'm dreaming, and some of it isn't exactly pleasant. The plague that nearly wiped out the Ancients, the war with the Wraith, shit like that."

"How much trouble?" Weir asked, ignoring his description.

"It's better now," John said evasively. "It leveled off and now it's getting better."

"All right." Weir spread her hands on the desk. "Well, as I said, I'm not going to insist, I'm just suggesting."

John nodded. "And I appreciate that, believe me."

Her mouth quirked a little. "Well, that's all, go on about your business."

Relieved, John got up. "Great, thanks."

He found Ford and Teyla lurking, waiting for him. "What?" he asked.

"Is all well?" Teyla asked politely.

"Oh, yeah, she just wanted to ask me about something." John gestured vaguely.

Ford didn't ask, but Teyla arched an eyebrow.

"Okay," John admitted, "I got a little freaked out last night, and made Grodin do a scan today."

Ford frowned. "Didn't you dream about what happened to Dr. McKay when it happened?"

God. "I didn't dream about anything happening to anybody last night," John said, a little annoyed and a lot embarrassed.

They both looked at him, but Ford glanced away after a moment, his face carefully schooled to blankness.

Great, now they were going to start treating him weird again. "Oh, for God's sake, I just had this weird feeling Chaya was around, that's all."

"But she was not," Teyla said, and it wasn't quite a question.

"No," John said irritably. "I didn't see her, and Grodin says I'm still perfectly normal."

"Or at least as normal as you ever were?" Ford grinned at him.

John's temper vanished. "Hey, you're a Marine, how normal are you?"

Ford just laughed, and Teyla smiled, but there was something in the way she looked at John. "Teyla, what's wrong?"

"I have been thinking about the Ancients," she said, and he could hear the trouble in her voice. "We have always prayed to the ancestors, and Dr. Weir says that the language of our prayers is the language of the Ancients."

John glanced at Ford, whose expression had gone thoughtful. "Yeah."

"Yet, Dr. Beckett has told me I do not have the gene that enables you to use these devices, and I do not believe that he has found anyone on the mainland who has it. Which suggests that the Ancients were not our ancestors."

John opened his mouth. Closed it again. "Did Beckett test everyone?"

"I am not sure." Teyla frowned. "And if they were not our ancestors, it seems to me that somehow, in the long centuries since, we have been praying to these Ascended ones." She studied John. "Praying to beings who were, after all, not so very different from you or me."

There was that, yes. "I wonder if long ago, your people thought maybe the Ascended were gods," John said, and felt a weird resonance inside his head as if something he couldn't quite remember confirmed that guess.

"Like Chaya was Athar?" Ford frowned, too. "They were pretending to be gods, you think?"

Abruptly, John was nauseated again. "Yeah, it's possible."

Teyla turned away from John. "I cannot tell my people this," she said softly. "How could they believe me?"

Ford put his hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "Teyla--"

She smiled at Ford. "I know."

With a little shock, John recognized the way Ford looked at her, recognized that Ford had, in fact, comforted.

"I, ah, I'm going to see how Rodney's doing," he said, and Teyla smiled a little at him, too. Not the same way, though, and while he wouldn't have wanted her to, it was unsettling to suddenly notice that there was something, something between them.

John thought about that while he was conducting a search for Rodney. Whatever was going on between Ford and Teyla, it didn't seem to be disruptive of the team dynamic, at least at this point. He was a little envious, though, and that was just as insane as flirting with Chaya had been.

So was searching for Rodney.

In fact, since it was midafternoon, and no one had seen Rodney since morning, John collected some lunch for both of them when Rodney turned out to be way the hell and gone out on one of the piers. It irritated John to find that out; he wasn't at all sure Rodney was up to whatever the hell it was Rodney was doing, not all the way across the damn city. At least it wasn't the same pier where the deadly nanocytes had been stored, he told himself and took a transporter to that section.

He ran into Kavanaugh first, and Kavanaugh directed him down one corridor and one level, where he found Rodney typing furiously on a laptop connected to a console.

Mindful of the last few times he'd startled Rodney, John rapped on the door in warning before he came in.

Rodney looked over his shoulder, and for just an instant, John could believe that Rodney was glad to see him. For just an instant, Rodney smiled as if he really was pleased to see John, and then he just looked like Rodney, not irritated, but maybe a little surprised.

A little shaken and pretty pleased himself, John smiled back. "Hi," he said, "What are you discovering today? Nothing lethal, I hope."

Rodney snorted. "Not unless the waste disposal system backs up. We've been make-shifting, and now we can let the city handle it properly."

John walked over to lean a hip against the console. "Sounds boring." He held up the container he was carrying. "Come and eat lunch with me."

Rodney was typing again. "I had a power bar earlier."

John put his hand over Rodney's fingers. "I hear you've been working all day, it's late. Lunch."

Rodney looked at him quizzically. "Since when is it your job to make sure I eat lunch?"

"Since I want you back on the team," John said. Rodney's mouth curved into that geniune smile and John couldn't help smiling back. "Come on." He patted Rodney's fingers lightly.

"What are you doing?" Rodney asked, clearly bemused.

"Sucking up," John said and felt his own smile get bigger.

Rodney studied him for a moment, shook his head. "All right." He turned the chair around. "There's a table. And another chair."

"The sun's shining and it's nice outside," John countered. "Topside."

Exasperated look, but Rodney got up, massaging the fingers of his right hand with his left; he followed John out of the room and up to the top level to a terraced balcony just around the curve from the grounding station.

They sat down on a bench and John put the package of sandwiches between them, handed Rodney a piece of fruit from the mainland. "Not citrus, I checked," he told Rodney.

Rodney gave him that bemused look again when John pulled out a thermos and cups. "I take it this wasn't just you carrying around extra provisions."

John ignored this and poured some of the Athosian brew for Rodney, "Have some of whatever the hell this is."

"I call it a sad substitute for coffee," Rodney grumbled, but took the cup.

John grinned and poured himself some, sipped at it. "Yeah, but at least it packs a little jolt."

"There is that," Rodney agreed.

John handed him a sandwich. "How's the hand?"

Rodney opened the package, eyed the sandwich. "The hand?"

John wiggled his fingers meaningfully.

"Oh. A lot better. It still tingles now and then, but a lot better." Quizzical look again.

"Everything else healing up?" John opened his own sandwich and took it out, took a bite and glanced at Rodney, who had his own mouth full.

Rodney blinked at him, shrugged and nodded. When he'd swallowed: "No cataract, if that's what you mean, so my vision is back to normal. The ear still aches, but Carson said that could take another few weeks. And I'm not quite as deaf on that side," he added dryly. "But I appreciate your not startling me out of my next ten years of life for a change."

John grinned and took another bite, looked out at the sea. "Hey, I catch on eventually."

"So what's going on?"

John looked back to see Rodney eyeing him a little watchfully. "Not much. Took one of the docs out to the mainland, collected some food and helped one of the Athosians, Tedrick, fix the door on his barn. Came on back." He shrugged. "You know, business as usual."

That little line appeared between Rodney's eyebrows. "And?"

A little baffled, John shrugged. "And that's it. You?"

Rodney took another bite and looked out at the horizon, too, clearly thinking something over. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Look, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but you don't usually seek me out to feed me lunch, uh, John. So what's going on?"

"Nothing!" John couldn't help it, he laughed. "Jesus, I don't usually have to seek you out, Rodney, because we're on a damn jumper at the same time."

After a moment, Rodney nodded. "There is that," he admitted.

"So. So I miss talking to you." He felt himself go red when Rodney looked at him, his expression doubtful. "What?"

"Nothing." Rodney looked back at the horizon.

Jesus, half the time John couldn't get Rodney to shut up when he wanted him to be quiet, and now he couldn't get Rodney to talk. "Teyla's suffering from disillusionment," he offered.

Rodney glanced at him. "With whom or what?"

"The Ancestors. Or the Ancients. She's thinking they aren't the same thing now. And she's also wondering if the fact that the prayers are in Ancient means that her real ancestors thought the Ascended were gods."

"It's the logical conclusion," Rodney agreed cautiously. "Given—" He gestured vaguely.

"Yeah." John felt melancholy settle in his chest. "Yeah, it is." He took another bite of his sandwich, chewed doggedly.

"How are the, uh, dreams?" Rodney asked, his tone uncharacteristically tentative.

John grimaced. "They're leveling off, I think." He picked at a piece of crust on the bread. "Last night I dreamt Chaya tried to come back to Atlantis, and I told her she couldn't. I don't remember the rest, but I woke up a little freaked out and about half-sure she'd been here."

Rodney frowned at that. "Nothing glowing?"

"Nope, and I made Grodin scan me." John tilted his head back to let the sun hit his face directly.

"Good." Rodney sounded relieved, as well he might, considering.

He squinted at Rodney. "I wouldn't have brought you lunch if the scan had been iffy. I think Grodin thinks I'm getting paranoid."

"Grodin always thinks I'm paranoid." Rodney shrugged. "He thinks it's because I worked at Area 51 so long."

John grinned. "You really worked there, huh?"

"I did indeed." Rodney finished his sandwich and leaned against the back of the bench, unconsciously flexing the fingers of his right hand. "And then they sent me to Russia." He grimaced. "The food was terrible."

"I've heard that," John said, still looking at Rodney. He still felt melancholy, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. He had this. He could talk to Rodney, he could look at Rodney and enjoy his company.

Rodney went on talking, telling him about the work he'd done on the naquadah reactors, his hands moving as he talked, illustrating or emphasizing one point or another, and John slid down a little on the bench, let the back of his head rest against the back edge and just listened, soaking in the sight and sound.

"What's that?" Rodney said, interrupting himself. "Is that a storm?"

John looked, sat up straight. "Where the hell did that come from?" It looked like a sea squall, and the clouds to the south of the pier were boiling up as if by magic. The rest of the sky was clear, but the sea was getting rougher. "We better get inside," John said doubtfully. "Does that seem normal to you?"

"I'm not exactly a weather expert," Rodney said, sounding equally doubtful. "But it's coming up awfully quickly.

In fact, it was coming up with almost supernatural speed, John thought and tossed the contents of his cup out, tossed the cup in the container and gathered their debris up. "Inside, Rodney. Now."

Rodney didn't need telling again and they both ran across the terrace to the doors. Zelenka was standing there, watching the weather with wide eyes and speaking into his radio.

John hit the door control and nothing happened.

Zelenka frowned through the glass at them, and pressed the door control on that side.

The door stayed shut.

John looked over his shoulder and the clouds were almost black, almost directly above the balcony. "Fuck," he said and knew what it was. "Stand back, Rodney."

Rodney was staring at him as if he were nuts. Rodney's eyes only got wider when John used his knife to pry the doors apart and snapped the blade.

Zelenka was working with him from the other side and the doors slowly, slowly parted. "Get inside," John snapped and shoved Rodney toward the just wide enough opening.

"What—"

Rodney went through without protesting, though, and John thanked God for that, turned to look over his shoulder—and the light was blinding, but the strike was pulled toward the grounding station, not toward the door.

"Stay inside," he shouted, and was terrified enough that his mouth had gone bone dry. He wasn't paranoid after all, he thought distantly and put his hand up to shield his eyes when the second strike sizzled around the edge of the balcony and was drawn to the grounding station.

"John, get in here!" Rodney reached out for him and he jerked away. "Dammit!"

"I knew she was here," John shouted, over the wind. "Stay inside."

'You idiot, what makes you think she won't kill you?" Rodney was furious. "If you did tell her not to come back, if she really spoke to you, what makes you think you're safe?"

Safe? Of course he wasn't safe. John almost laughed, shook his head instead. God, he thought, riding the thin edge of real craziness, it was worse than he'd thought, he loved the silly bastard. "I don't. But if I go in, she might follow. She already got you once, Rodney. Now get the hell away from the door."

"You're insane!"

"Zelenka, get him the hell away from the door!" John squinted up at the sky, wondering what the hell anybody could do to defend against someone who was damn near omnipotent and whose moral compass was apparently a little skewed. Chaya, he thought and closed his eyes as the wind drove rain against his face. "Fine, whatever, if you want me, take me, but you leave everyone else the fuck alone, you hear me?"

Bright white light and heat and John was looking down on himself for an instant. Then things got even weirder: he heard Chaya screaming, he'd could swear he had, and then rain was pouring down on his face and into his eyes. His chest hurt like a motherfucker, a lot like when they'd used the defibrillator to first stop and then start his heart again.

John opened his eyes and the rain dried up just like somebody had turned a spigot, and the clouds looked like somebody had reversed and sped up a film of the way they'd boiled up, and then Zelenka and Rodney were kneeling beside him and leaning over him and Rodney was chalk-white.

"I'm okay," he said through lips that felt astonishingly numb. "Help me up."

Rodney was staring at him as if he were a three day miracle. "My God."

Zelenka's hand closed over his wrist. "Rodney, help him up."

Rodney took his other hand and they helped him sit up, at least. His legs felt untrustworthy when he tried to get them under him, so he sat for a moment.

"It hit you," Rodney said, disbelieving. "Straight on."

John wondered about that. "Well, I'm not dead, so it couldn't have."

"It did," Zelenka said and then added something in his own language, John thought.

Rodney answered him.

John turned his head to stare at Rodney. "I didn't know you spoke Czech."

Rodney's expression was exasperated. "A little. There's a medical team on the way, so just sit still, John."

"I'm fine," John insisted, despite his chest. His clothes were drenched, of course, but he was breathing, he was in one piece, and except for being jellified, his limbs seemed to be in working order. "I'll sit right here," he added, because Rodney looked on the verge of exploding.

"This makes no sense," Rodney said, "It hit you straight on, right in the chest, the shock threw you against the wall!"

"I feel fine," John repeated and looked down at his shirt which looked seared open. "Whoa, shirt doesn't look too good, though."

"So you finally noticed," Rodney snapped. "Yes, John, you were struck by lightning, and while I'm tremendously relieved, I have no goddamn idea why you aren't dead!"

"Or at least injured," Zelenka said, chiming in.

His shirt looked a little charred, but at least it hadn't melted to his skin. John pulled it apart along the line of char and there was a weird feathered burn pattern on his chest. The skin was a little sore, he found when he touched it, but not bad. It was his ribcage that hurt, just like it had ached after the whole defibrillator adventure. "That's weird,' he said and looked at Rodney. Rodney, who had gotten some color back while being sarcastic, went white again. "It's no worse than sunburn," he told Rodney, hoping to reassure him.

The doors opened and John looked over to see, oh, Jesus, Beckett and Weir and a medical team with a gurney. "I'm okay," he told Beckett. "Really."

Beckett looked at him as if he were speaking...Czech, or something.

"He was hit directly," Rodney told Beckett. "Right in the chest. The shock threw him against the wall from over there."

Beckett stared. "All right, let me have a look at him."

"I'm okay," John said again, and nobody was listening now, either. Resigned, he let Beckett do his thing, although he balked when Beckett wanted him on the gurney. "Come on, I'm fine."

"John, will you please just do as he says," Rodney snapped.

John looked at Rodney, saw Rodney glowering at him, arms folded. Hell, he thought and rolled his eyes, pushed himself up and got on the gurney.

Weir almost looked amused, but her eyes were too worried.

"I'm okay," John told her, "And no, it wasn't exactly natural lightning. I think the other Ascended intervened."

"Chaya?" she asked worriedly.

John nodded. "I'm pretty damn sure—"

"Major," Beckett said, seriously annoyed. "Wi' you please lie back!"

John sighed and did. "I'm pretty damn sure it was her. I could swear I heard her voice when I was, uh," he waved vaguely upward. "Sort of out of body."

"Dear God," Beckett muttered.

"She tried to force you to Ascend," Rodney said, his tone appalled.

John turned his head. "I dunno," he said after a moment. "How do you force someone to Ascend?"

"I would imagine, based on what Dr. Jackson told me, that damaging their physical self beyond repair is a good start," Weir said, and she sounded as horrified as Rodney.

Now John was glad of the gurney. "Okay, now I'm freaked out."

"Get him to medical," Beckett told the team.

To John's pleasure, Rodney stayed next to the gurney. Sure, Rodney was scowling, but he was there.

"I'm really okay," he told Rodney again, on the way to the transporter. "You can stop being pissed off."

"You idiot," Rodney told him, "You stood out there practically daring her."

"I was afraid if I went inside, she'd take you out, too," John said, which he thought was perfectly reasonable.

"You are an idiot," Rodney said fiercely.

John sighed.

"Major, all your vitals are nice and strong," Beckett said, a little perplexed. "Rodney, are you sure it actually struck him? There's a phenomenon that involves lightning actually dancing over the surface area, but not—"

"It struck him," Rodney said flatly. "Look at his chest, Carson."

They reached the transporter and there was a brief heated argument about whether or not Rodney was going with them, which Rodney won.

Rodney's vehemence was...oddly exhilarating.

Maybe he was in shock, John thought, but he was feeling pretty damned good for somebody who thought he'd been looking down on his own body. And there was this weird little bubble of hope expanding inside of him which he sure as hell hoped wasn't self-delusion, and Rodney kept scowling at him, which kept pumping up that hope.

Rodney didn't leave either.

"Ow," John said, once he'd gotten rid of his shirt and Beckett started poking him in the ribs. "Now that hurts."

"Does it?"

"Yeah, like after you got my heart restarted after that whole Wraith monster-bug thing." John put his hand in the way. "Doc, that hurts."

"We're going to have to get x-rays, make sure nothing's broken." Beckett moved his hand, kept checking the ribs.

"Idiot," Rodney muttered and folded his arms again.

John rolled his eyes. "My blood pressure's fine, I'm breathing, my heart rate is fine, I've got a weird sunburn and sore ribcage, and I'm fine."

"You're lucky you're alive," Rodney snapped.

"But I'm fine."

"I'll be the judge of that," Beckett said and looked at Rodney. "But I have to admit, if you and Zelenka hadn't seen it, I'd think the Major had hallucinated the lightning."

"I'm not the hallucinating type," John said, a little affronted.

"He's not," Rodney said and paced the short space at the foot of the bed.

Beckett rolled his eyes. "Right. Well, I'm still keeping you here a few hours to make sure that these others didn't overlook any pieces when they put you back together."

"That's what I don't get," Rodney said and gestured. "I thought they weren't supposed to interfere. You should be dead."

"But I'm not," John said pointedly.

"Maybe it was because Chaya had already interfered with you and the Major both," Beckett suggested.

"I suppose it could be," Rodney said and sighed. "We'll probably never know."

"I'm not really inclined to question it," John said, just as pointedly.

"Neither am I," Rodney said, irritated again. "But it's puzzling."

John sighed. "I'm happy to be here to be puzzled."

"Next time, try thinking about that before you paint a target on your chest and stand there daring something to kill you." Rodney paced again.

John looked at him. "If I have to be stuck here for a few hours, can I borrow Good Omens?"

"What?" Rodney looked at him. "Oh, yeah, I'll go and get it."

That bubble of hope made John smile. "Thanks."

Rodney rolled his eyes and left the infirmary.

Beckett nodded. "Good idea, Major, he was driving me mad. Get those boots and pants off, I'll get you a gown."

"I can't just lie here in my clothes?"

Beckett gave him an annoyed look. "Your shirt is ruined, and you'll be just as comfortable in a gown."

"How can I be comfortable if my ass is hanging out?" John complained.

"You're as bad a patient as Rodney," Beckett told him. "I'll get you a scrub shirt, then, but get those boots off."

John sat up and took the boots off. After a few minutes, one of the nurses brought him a scrub shirt. It was roomy enough he didn't have to stretch too much to get into it, which was good, because his chest still hurt like a mother. He settled back against the pillows and Weir arrived, hands behind her back, and offered him a wry smile.

"Hi," he said, "And before you ask, I'm fine. But he's keeping me here a couple of hours."

"I know, he told me." Weir arched an eyebrow. "So, I guess your dream wasn't just a dream, not entirely."

John grimaced. "Kinda looks that way."

"Rodney said he thinks the others must have intervened."

"I think he's right," John told her seriously. "I told you, I could swear I heard her. And everything just sort of undid all of a sudden. I was lying there in the rain, and then the rain stopped and the squall was just...gone"

"So what have we learned?" she asked, just as seriously.

"I think it's more a lesson relearned," John said drily. "To be very, very, very careful about possible diplomatic alliances."

"And other kinds of alliances," Weir said, but one corner of her mouth lifted.

"Oh, believe me, I had that one down after Rodney got hurt."

"What?" Rodney said, appearing next to Weir.

"No noncorporeal sex offworld," John said and was gratified when Rodney's mouth quirked.

"Excellent point," Rodney agreed and handed him the book.

Weir laughed, arched an eyebrow at him. "I have to agree. Don't make Dr. Beckett too irritable, Major. I'll hope to see you at dinner."

"Thanks," John said and waited until she left. "Is Beckett around anywhere?"

"He's in his office, I think," Rodney said and frowned. "You need me to get him?"

"No, I need you to help me make a break for it. There's nothing wrong with me."

"The hell I will, you stay right there." Rodney's frown got deeper. "You move from that bed, I'll rat you out myself."

"Rat me out?" John smiled at Rodney, really smiled at Rodney, the smile he used to impress pretty women. He wasn't entirely sure Rodney noticed, but the frown did disappear.

"Exactly," Rodney said.

John sighed. "But it's boring here."

"That's why I lent you the book." Rodney eyed him. "I can't believe you did that. I really can't believe you did that.

"I told you why," John told him. "It was only good sense."

"For whom?" Rodney asked, a little incredulous. "I'm sure it wouldn't have been at all traumatic for me to watch you get toasted like a marshmallow on a stick."

That was a disgusting thought. "Rodney, that's gross," John said, but couldn't help laughing a little. "Hey, did you ever see Ghostbusters? The giant marshmallow man and the way he exploded?"

"That's really disgusting," Rodney said, but his mouth twitched. "You really are a lunatic."

"But you like me anyway," John said, risking just a touch of flirtation in his voice.

Rodney flushed. "Yes, I like you anyway," he said, in what he probably hoped was a quelling tone.

John arched his eyebrows. "Enough to help me break out?"

"Enough to make you stay here." Still quelling, but Rodney's mouth was twitching.

"Damn." John smiled again, looking right into Rodney's eyes.

Rodney flushed, folded his arms and lifted his chin. "Are you flirting with me?"

It was John's turn to blush. "Why?"

Rodney blinked. "Why?"

Okay, wrong question.

"Um," John said, thinking fast, but his pulse was a little too fast, and he was feeling a little...giddy, if he were completely honest with himself.

Rodney's half-smile became a full-fledged smile. "Um?"

"Maybe?" John risked.

"You really are insane," Rodney said, "And clearly delirious."

"Not so much," John admitted. "Just facing up to facts."

"Which facts would those be?" Rodney asked, and his voice was very gentle.

John opened his mouth. Closed it and thought for a moment, but didn't look away. "This probably isn't the greatest place to have this discussion," he finally said.

"There's a discussion?" Rodney didn't seem terribly freaked out, though, which was a good sign. Wasn't it?

"Maybe an explanation," John said.

"Explanations can be good," Rodney said. "And it's probably better to wait until you're not delirious."

Maybe. John's bubble of hope shrank down, but at least Rodney hadn't freaked out, hadn't been offended, hadn't gotten angry. That part at least was good.

Rodney was watching him, and Rodney must have seen something in his face because he took the book back. "However, I do like you well enough to read to you."

It put a lump in John's throat and made him feel as shaky as somebody who really should be dead should feel.

Rodney went and got a chair and Rodney came back and sat down to open the book.

"Thanks," John said quietly.

Rodney offered him a real smile and then opened the book.

 

John woke with a start when someone touched his shoulder. Rodney was gone, and it was dark and the person touching him was Beckett, his expression amused. "Major, if you'd like, you can go to your quarters. Your vitals haven't once budged in six hours."

John felt disoriented. "I fell asleep."

Beckett kindly didn't point out how obvious that statement was. "That you did. I expected nearly being forcibly Ascended took a toll."

John sat up, frowning. "Six hours?"

"Oh, aye." Beckett patted his arm. "If you'd rather, you can go right back to sleep here."

"No, no, I'd rather be in my own bed." John blinked at Beckett and realized that he hadn't had any nightmares. Not one. Nada. Zilch. ""Yeah. My bed," he said vaguely and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He still had his socks on, and decided the hell with it, he'd carry his boots. "Thanks, Doc."

"Don't thank me, I didn't do anything." Beckett handed him a small bottle. "If, and I do stress if, the discomfort in the ribs gets bad, you may take one of these. There are three. If you end up taking all three of them in the next three days, you come back and see me."

John took the bottle because getting off the bed woke that ache up again. "Thanks."

Beckett patted him again and then went back to his office.

John made his way out of the infirmary and to his quarters, feeling curiously abandoned and something a little darker than melancholy. What the hell had he been thinking? God, he was lucky that for all Rodney's prickly nature, Rodney was kind, and Rodney's only prejudice was against stupidity.

He was so lost in thought, he didn't hear the voice from behind him until Rodney had nearly caught up to him. "Oh," he said, surprised. "Sorry, I guess I'm sleepwalking."

"I can't believe Carson let you out," Rodney said and eyed him, not quite warily.

"I can't believe I slept for six hours," John said and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Dying takes it out of you," Rodney told him.

That reminded him that Rodney had, in fact, died. "Yeah, but I was only dead, if I was dead, for an instant. You had it a little harder."

"Funny thing about that," Rodney said and arched an eyebrow. "My eardrum is in one piece, and my hand is suddenly fine and there's longer any sign that there was anything ever wrong with my eye."

John's heart thumped hard. "Nothing wrong? No hole in your eardrum? No tingling?"

"None." Rodney wriggled the fingers of his right hand. "It looks as if the other Ascended intervened all over the place, rules notwithstanding." Rodney nudged him. "You're falling asleep on your feet."

Rodney was okay, really okay, really okay as in all injuries reversed. John felt a little dizzy and a lot shaky. "I'm okay," he protested, but started walking again.

"So, are you ready to have that discussion, or have you changed your mind about having it?"

John nearly stumbled. Trust Rodney, he thought, amused in spite of himself. "No, I mean, yeah, I, uh, we can do that." They reached his door and he pressed the control. "Um, come on in."

Rodney did, looked around with interest. "What are you, a monk? I've seen monastic cells larger than this."

"A monk?" John closed the door. "When have you ever seen a monk's cell?"

"A very long time ago," Rodney said dismissively. "Can you bounce a quarter off that blanket?"

"I'm not a Marine," John told him, a little crossly and sat down on the bed.

Rodney sat down in the chair and looked at him expectantly.

Fuck. "I don't exactly know how to start this discussion," John admitted finally.

"Flirting," Rodney said helpfully.

Only it wasn't helpful. John outwaited the heat in his face and said. "Okay. It's just—I just realized something, that's all."

"About?" Rodney said, again not so helpfully.

"Oh, I think you can figure that out," he said, irritated.

"Pretend I can't."

Maybe John didn't want to have this conversation. "I can't pretend that, Rodney, you're always at least two or more steps ahead of everybody else, and for all I know, you're five or ten ahead of me on this."

Rodney smiled. "Okay, forgive me, but I'm trying to figure out how you went from being wrapped around Chaya's finger to flirting with me. Even if she'd been an ordinary human being, there's still a key difference."

"No kidding," John practically snarled. "Why do you think I was so invested in my usual type?"

Rodney frowned a little. "Denial?"

John scowled. "Maybe this isn't a good idea."

"So what brought this denial home to you?" Rodney eyed him.

"That fucking nightmare about you." John looked at his socks. "I woke up from this nightmare and Corporal Landers thought I was nuts, I made him check to see if you were all right. I, uh, lied, I asked him to check on you and Elizabeth. Elizabeth came and told me, then."

"Oh."

John finally risked looking up at Rodney, whose expression was odd. "What?"

"I just realized something myself," Rodney said thoughtfully and got up, walked over and sat down on the bed next to John.

"What?" John asked, a little apprehensively.

"I'll tell you later," Rodney said and leaned in to kiss him.

John's brain completely shut down, but he was relieved to notice that his motor activities weren't affected. His mouth, for example, was working perfectly well, and Rodney's mouth was really something. Really, really something, and apparently Rodney had no problem with the flirting because Rodney had absolutely no trouble with kissing him well enough that his brain shut down.

John wasn't entirely sure how, but they were lying on the bed and even if Rodney was being over-careful with him, Rodney was still kissing him like there was no tomorrow and John was so hard he ached. Best of all, Rodney was hard, too, and John fumbled a hand under Rodney's shirt and felt smooth skin and some soft, curly hair, and muscle and bone, and it was pretty strange, but still so damn good. He put his hand over Rodney's heart, felt the rhythm, and stroked his tongue over Rodney's, moaned when Rodney sucked on his tongue.

Rodney kept kissing him and, with his usual skill at multi-tasking, got John's pants open and his hand under the waistband of John's underwear. The rush of pleasure was so strong, John moaned again and tried, not nearly as skillfully, to return the favor, but Rodney seemed to know just how to touch him and his concentration slipped before he did more than get the button at Rodney's waistband undone.

"Rodney," John breathed, pulling back a little, "Rodney, clothes, come on, I want to touch you, too."

"All right, all right," Rodney gave him a little squeeze. "Here, sit up a little for a minute."

John wasn't so sure about that, given his ribs, but what the hell, if it meant getting rid of clothes, he was game The scrub shirt came off pretty easily with a little help, and then Rodney's shirt and he could run his hands over Rodney's chest to his heart's content, following that exploration with his lips. Rodney nuzzled him and pushed his pants down, which meant he was behind in the getting Rodney naked thing, so he forced himself to focus and finally got Rodney's pants open and his hands inside the waistband of Rodney's boxers. He kicked free of his own and Rodney did, and socks and shoes were gone, and dear God, it felt so good to be skin to skin, Rodney's thigh between his own.

Rodney actually appeared to have a clue what he was doing, which was kind of cool, because it meant one of them did. John cupped Rodney's ass with one hand and gasped when Rodney's fingers wrapped around him again, pressing their cocks together. Oh, wow, that felt even better and John rested his forehead against Rodney's and looked down, felt pleasure treble just from the sight of it, both of them held together by Rodney's big, capable hand.

John squeezed his handful of Rodney's ass and pushed into Rodney's grip. Warm skin, and Rodney's breath was warm, ghosting across his jaw and he tilted his head again and just dove into Rodney's mouth, sucked on Rodney's lower lip and then stroked his tongue in against Rodney's and this was him, this was Rodney, they were really doing this, and it wasn't a fantasy, because in a fantasy, he wouldn't have had achy ribs and a feathery case of sunburn on his chest, and that was the best thing of all.

Sloppy kisses, little playful nips, lewd and hungry kisses and John had his other arm under Rodney's ribs and around Rodney's back, pulling them even closer together and Rodney's mouth traveled from John's to the corner of John's jaw and then to his earlobe, and that felt so good that he moaned and couldn't stop moving at all. It didn't seem to be a problem; Rodney just stroked upward more firmly; short, hard strokes and all the pleasure, all the touching just sort of coalesced at the base of his spine and then exploded outward and he came hard, making incoherent noises in his throat with each long pulse and just plain whining with the last.

John moved his hand, put his fingers around Rodney's, wanting to draw that pleasure out of Rodney, too, and he gripped and Rodney did and then Rodney came, slow and hot and slick, and Rodney made this incredible sound and put his mouth on John's throat. He was shivering a little and Rodney was, and he hooked his leg over Rodney's hip, not wanting to lose the heat.

More kisses, and Rodney chuckled against his mouth. "It's a good thing Carson didn't know what would happen when he released you."

Rodney's chuckle was infectious. "Well, I'm sure as hell not going to tell him."

"That's a relief." Another kiss, this one almost tender, and Rodney leaned up, leaned over and snagged something.

Ah, yes, clean up, John thought and blinked at what Rodney had in his hand. "Are those mine?"

"Let's see, we're in your quarters, I have to wear mine back to my own quarters, what a brilliant deduction."

"Smart ass," John grumbled, but his heart wasn't really in it. "You don't have to wear yours back to your quarters."

Rodney wiped them both clean and looked at him, a little bemused. "Well, there is that," he agreed.

"You could stay here," John added, realizing that he'd left some ambiguity hanging in midair.

Slow smile and Rodney kissed him again. "I'd still have to go back eventually for clean clothes," he murmured.

"I suppose." But he said it comfortably. Rodney got what he meant.

Another smile and Rodney ruffled his hair.

John arched an eyebrow. "What was that?"

Rodney smirked. "Self-indulgence."

Oh. John rolled his eyes and kissed Rodney again, remembered the conversation before Rodney's brain melting kiss. "So what did you realize?"

Rodney snorted. "I should have known you wouldn't forget that."

"I forgot for a while," John pointed out. "You distracted me."

"And it worked, too." Rodney's smile was one of those genuine, just plain happy smiles.

"I'm easy to distract that way," John allowed and put his arm around Rodney's waist.

"Under the blankets," Rodney suggested. "If I'm going to stay, I'd like to be comfortable, and wool makes my skin itch."

A lot of things made Rodney itch, John had discovered, and this was not a good thing. With some shifting and wriggling, they managed to get under the bedclothes and between the sheets, and that was better even to John's non-itchy skin. Especially when, after some jockeying for position, he ended up with his head on Rodney's shoulder and his leg over Rodney's. Much better.

"So what did you realize?" he asked and kissed the crook of Rodney's neck and shoulder, just because it was there and they were both alive, and Rodney was actually here with him in his bed.

For a minute, John didn't think Rodney was going to answer him, he thought Rodney might distract him again or change the subject, but Rodney finally sighed. "I realized that I wasn't just angry at Chaya for being deceptive." Rodney's hand moved in John's hair, petting him. "I was also jealous as hell."

"Jealous?" John asked, thunderstruck.

"Jealous," Rodney agreed.

Heart thumping too hard, John swallowed. "Jealous because I was flirting with her or jealous because she was flirting with me?"

"Moron," Rodney said, but it was affectionate.

John grinned sheepishly. "Just checking."

Rodney ruffled his hair again.

John traced Rodney's nipple with his fingertip, leaned down to put his tongue against it. It felt amazing, a hard little point, and he teased it with his teeth, until Rodney ruffled his hair and pulled him closer. "I hate to admit it," John said into Rodney's skin, "But I was still pretty well taken in until you got hurt. Rodney, I was so fucking scared. I don't even think I was that scared standing outside on that terrace."

Rodney made a sound. "That's because you're a maniac. I was scared enough for both of us." His fingers tightened in John's hair and he tugged it. "And what the hell were you shouting at the sky?"

John grinned. "I don't remember." Sleep was creeping back up on him. Rodney was here, warm skin against his, and he wasn't dreaming, it wasn't a fantasy, and he put his arm over Rodney's chest. "Stay."

"I'm not going anywhere," Rodney murmured and kissed his forehead. "At least not until morning."

John smiled again, pressed his mouth against Rodney's skin. "Cool."

Rodney tugged the blankets up over both of them. "Sleep." Then, with a hint of laughter. "You've had a busy day."

So he had. "You, too," John said comfortably and closed his eyes.

He was already half asleep when he felt Rodney's mouth touch his forehead again and smiled, already going under.

Life was looking better. For real.

 

"Rodney, you're late," John said, looking pointedly at his watch.

Ford grinned.

"You know, I do have other responsibilities," Rodney snapped. "Being on this team isn't the only job I have."

Teyla looked amused, but had the decency not to smile.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, you're the smartest guy here," John snarked. "How come you can't tell time?"

"Says the man who can't find his way on foot without a compass," Rodney muttered and put on his vest.

Ford failed utterly to suppress the sound of a snicker. John glared at him.

"The Major is a pilot," Teyla said sweetly. "His strength is finding his way in the air."

"Obviously," Rodney said and strapped his holster on. "I'm surprised he can find his way across the city without a compass."

Ford again failed utterly to suppress his snicker.

John glared again, willing him not to mention that John had, in fact, gotten turned around on Pier 2 the other day. When he glanced at Rodney again, he saw the little quirky smile that always undid his annoyance, and Rodney's gaze was both affectionate and amused. "Okay, so maybe I'm a little directionally challenged," he muttered. "But only on foot."

Rodney grinned. Ford grinned. Teyla smiled.

Okay, so it wasn't so bad admitting it. "At least carrying a compass helps," John added, looking at Rodney's watch pointedly.

Rodney grinned and went back to strapping on his gear. "Usually."

Sometimes, a person took the wrong turn, the absolute wrong turn, and didn't realize it, not even when the signs should have been clear enough to cause, say, an epiphany of almost religious proportions.

And sometimes, in spite of the wrong turn, a person could actually find their way back to the right one without a compass.

John looked at Rodney's profile, glanced at the rest of his team, and smiled.


End file.
